


Night in Laketown

by Koneko713



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling, Gen, Sickfic, book spoilers maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koneko713/pseuds/Koneko713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The company has just arrived in Laketown, but the ordeal with the barrels has taken quite a toll on poor Bilbo.  Cue worried dwarves and exasperated Hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night in Laketown

**Author's Note:**

> I had 20 minutes of free time before my Organic Chemistry class, so, like any sane person, I typed up the first half of this 'drabble' to my friend via text. I finished it when I got home. Quick and pointless.   
> Gen or Bagginshield, interpret it as you see fit.

Bilbo had _thought_ this adventure could not possibly get any weirder.  They’d had wargs, goblins, giant eagles, large hairy shape shifters, giant _talking_ spiders, and belligerent wood elves (and even more belligerent dwarves).  However, the dwarves’ behaviour in Laketown was by far the oddest thing he had yet encountered.

They had gotten out of the barrels without major incident, and while hungry and waterlogged the dwarves were recovering quite spectacularly (though Fili was sick when his younger brother helpfully pointed out that his hair still smelled of apples.)

Poor Bilbo wasn’t faring so well.  Hobbit bodies are remarkably sturdy in their own way, but even the healthiest hobbit would have been in poor shape after that ordeal, and Bilbo had spent several weeks in the elven king’s palace with little food and less rest.  He came down with a truly unbelievable cold before their welcome feast in Laketown was over.

The dwarves seemed completely at a loss when it came to dealing with small, sick creatures.  Bilbo gathered from their worried chatter as he was ushered hurriedly into the house the Master had provided them that dwarves very rarely fell ill, and when they did it was always serious.  Fili was particularly attentive, and Kili whispered to Bilbo that he himself had been ill as a child, and that Fili had never quite recovered from the fright of it.

Despite his insistence that he was fine, that he only needed rest, warmth, and good food, the company was nearly in a panic.  Dori located tea somewhere that was apparently up to his standards, which were quite specific, and proceeded to forcefully insist that Bilbo drink it.  Ori wrapped him in a cosy knitted scarf, fussing with the ends until he was satisfied the hobbit could not possibly get chilled.  Bofur even parted with his beloved hat, telling Bilbo “you need it more than I do, laddie”.

The older dwarves were, on the whole, less concerned.  Every one of them came to inspect him, though, checking his fever and clucking over him quite patronizingly.  Gloin had a healthy young son, and couldn’t tell a bad illness from a mild one.  Oin and Balin, after some inspection, declared that his fever wasn’t cause for serious alarm.  Dwalin seemed most concerned that he didn’t infect any others.

The concern was appreciated, even if the articles of clothing lent to him smelled like…well, smelled like they’d been on adventuring dwarves for six months.  Soon enough, as every dwarf in the company trailed in and out of his room, checking up on him (Fili kept coming back to press a hand to his forehead, making sure his fever hadn’t risen) he realized what was going on.

They were being _grateful,_ in their own round about way.  After all, his cold _was_ due to risking his life to get all of _them_ out of the elven king’s dungeons.

Though all the over-attention quite annoyed the hobbit, who just wanted peace to sleep off this miserable cold, he had to admit their hearts were in the right place.  So when they decided that one of the company would stay by his bedside until he recovered, he didn’t have the heart to argue.

Fili volunteered to take the first shift, dragging a chair over to sit beside Bilbo’s pillow.  His brother didn’t say anything, simply curled himself at Fili’s feet.  The rest left to explore the town and bask in the admiration of the people.  Bilbo drifted, lulled by the gentle voices of the brothers murmuring to each other, when suddenly he realized something else.

The only dwarf who hadn’t come to see if he was alright was Thorin.

He told himself firmly that he was _not_ upset that the King hadn’t seemed concerned with him, that it was the fever making him over react.  After all, it had been a rather undignified arrival in Laketown, with how bedraggled they had all looked coming out of those barrels, and it would probably take a while for their high-and-mighty leader to forgive him for that.  Still, he couldn’t help being a little disappointed as sleep finally claimed him.

He awoke much later, startling out of deep dreams straight to wakefulness.  For a moment he couldn’t tell what had woken him, and it didn’t help that his head was swimming unpleasantly with fever.  Then he realized what it was that had interrupted his sleep—and he started to scramble away from the warm body that was pressed against his in the bed. 

An arm reached out, wrapping around his middle and drawing him back in with a sleepy grumble from the other.  Glancing over his shoulder only gained a glimpse of long dark hair, but the body lined along his was too large to be Kili, so it had to be… “Thorin,” he hissed, wriggling a bit against the dwarf’s grip.  “What do you think you’re doing?  You’ll catch my cold…”

Thorin huffed a sigh, apparently frustrated that the halfling wasn’t going to just go back to sleep.  “Dwarves don’t get sick that easily, master Baggins,” he assured Bilbo.  “And you were shivering, no matter how many blankets I put on you.  I _assumed_ that was a bad thing.”

Bilbo craned his neck, trying to look at his companion, with no success.  “I just have a bit of a fever,” he said.  “And you didn’t seem this concerned about me earlier.”

He hadn’t meant to say that; it had slipped out on his fever-loosened tongue, and Thorin went stiff behind him.

“Forgive me, master Baggins,” he muttered.  “But I am unused to dealing with ill people.  Even when they were young Fili and Kili took care of each other, and I was never needed.  I thought I would only be in the way, coming to check up on you.  And if I’m to be stuck in here with you, I need to be doing something useful.”  His arm hadn’t loosened, and now he drew Bilbo back against his chest, harder than before.  “Like keeping you warm.  Can you go back to sleep now, halfling?”

After the days spent in the barrels even the great dwarf king sounded tired.  Bilbo considered protesting, especially since he resented Thorin sounding like he was being kept here against his will.  However, the dwarf (who was, to Bilbo’s surprise, clad only in a light shirt and breeches, rather than his usual layers of armour and padding) was like a furnace at his back, nicely chasing away the chills of the fever.  Reluctantly, the hobbit settled down again, feeling his own breathing slow as sleep started to overwhelm him again.

Just before he drifted off, he heard a muttered “thank you,” against his hair, and smiled to himself.  So Thorin was also grateful, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> At 1000+ words it probably no longer counts as a drabble, huh?


End file.
